


Rope

by parapraxis



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:05:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parapraxis/pseuds/parapraxis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott never believed in things like love at first site...until he laid eyes on John Barrowman.</p><p>Note: I can't for the life of me remember the name of the guy that introduced Scott and John, so his name in this story is Mitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"You've got to come see this play with me," Mitch insisted as he and friend Scott Gill sat in a pub for lunch. “My friend John’s in it, and he’s completely naked for the first seven minutes of the play. He’s gorgeous. You’ll love him.”

“Yeah, alright.” Scott nodded, biting into a hot chip. “Play can’t be all bad if it’s got nudity in the first scene. What theatre’s it at, then?”

“Chichester.” Mitch tried to sound casual as he bit into a strip of fish, but Scott’s eyes darted up from his basket of fish and chips to Mitch’s face.

“What? Seriously? Chichester? That’s a bloody hour from here!”

“I’ll drive.” Mitch whinged with a roll of his eyes. “All you’ve got to do is go with me. What’ve you got to do that’s better, besides? Sit around your flat reading? Bugger that, you’re coming. You’ll thank me.”

Knowing Mitch was right—that he had nothing better to do—Scott didn’t argue the point. Having been to a play or two before—Scott knew that most people liked to dress for the occasion, but he was willing to bet that Mitch had gotten them the cheap seats in the house and his denims would probably suffice for the evening if he paired it with a button-down shirt. He was pleased when Mitch picked him up, wearing similar attire, and even more pleased when Mitch had told him he looked nice.

The drive to Chichester took, as Scott expected, a little more than an hour with traffic, but they were able to park and get to their seats with a few minutes before show time. “Ten quid if you can pick out John without my pointing him out.” Mitch had grinned in his ear as the curtain rose. 

As the lights bloomed to life, illuminating the naked flesh of the men on stage, Scott almost felt like he was being pulled forward by gravity itself, and realized he was leaning forward in his seat. He heard Mitch snigger next to him, but paid his friend no mind as he drank in the sight on the stage. They were all gorgeous, but Scott’s eyes were drawn to the tall, dark-haired man that seemed to shine like a beacon in the night; as if he had his own internal light source that made him glow. 

Scott felt his heart stutter and flutter in his chest, felt the air leave his lungs as he gawked at the beautiful man dominating the stage. Never before had Scott believed in things like love at first sight, but the only thing Scott could think of when he saw that man was, “He’s the one…”

“Which one you think is him, then? Judging by the trail of drool on your chin, you’ve picked him out.” Mitch’s voice drew Scott back to the present and he forced himself to sit back.

“Him.” Scott pointed at the dark-haired beauty, almost fully confident that he was right. Mitch grinned and reached for his wallet, pulling out a ten pound note and holding it out to Scott.

“Good eye, you. Want to meet him, then? I’ll get us backstage after the show.”

“They don’t just let anyone backstage, Mitch. You’ve got to have…I dunno…special permission or something.”

“Trust me.” Mitch said with a wink. “John and I go back a long ways. I’ll get us back.”

Scott looked at Mitch curiously, the question he didn’t dare ask burning in his mind. Were Mitch and John an item? That would be his luck… Mitch had probably brought Scott just to show John off; a cruel reminder that Scott was absolute rubbish when it came to keeping boyfriends and Mitch never seemed to be without a pretty boy on his arm. Scott felt somewhat deflated just by the thought alone, but it didn’t stop him from enjoy the show—or more aptly, John’s performance.

Just as Mitch promised, he managed to talk his way backstage with Scott and soon the pair found themselves standing in the doorway of a dressing room, staring at the bare arse of John Barrowman. Scott had memorized John’s name from the program, repeating it over and over in his mind like some sort of sick mantra. Even with the thought that Mitch and John were most likely together, Scott couldn’t help but give John the once-over. If nothing else, he was going to have some very nice mental images to have a wank over later that night.

“Johnny boy,” Mitch announced their presence, and Scott felt himself swallowing hard as John turned to look at him, hitching up his jeans over his hips. The bold, blue eyes slowly swept over Scott before they found Mitch, and John’s full lips cracked into a wide smile, revealing perfect white teeth.

 _Christ, he really is perfect_. Scott thought to himself as John moved forward to hug Mitch. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Are you kidding? Never miss a chance to see your bum.” Mitch grinned, grabbing a handful of John’s arse before pulling back from the hug and indicating to Scott. “This is Scott. Forced him to come with me tonight, but I think it’s safe to say he’s glad he did.”

Scott swallowed again as John’s eyes focused on his like a hawk. He felt like he was breathing through a straw, and as he held a shaky hand out towards John, all he could think was, _Please don’t say anything stupid to him…oh God, are my hands clammy? Bloody hell, he’s gorgeous…_

Scott licked his suddenly dry lips as he found his voice with a shy, “Heya.”

John’s hand was warm, the simple touch sending an electric pulse down Scott’s spine. “Nice to meet you, Scott; I’m glad you came. Did you like the show?”

John was sincerely interested in Scott’s answer, but Scott felt Mitch nudge him in the ribs and chortle before he could answer. “The first seven minutes of it, eh Scottie boy?”

“That bit was nice,” Scott agreed, placating his friend, but then he looked back at John. “I thought your performance was quite remarkable.”

“Remarkable?” John probed, obviously looking for details that he could take as either criticism or praise.

“Yeah,” Scott nodded. “You were quite good, I thought.”

Pleased, John smiled and finally released Scott’s hand. “I’m glad you enjoyed the show then.”

“What’ve you got going on tonight?” Mitch asked. “Care to pop off down to the pub for a few pints?”   
John cringed visibly. “You know I’d love to, Mitch, but I didn’t know you guys were coming. I’ve got plans tonight. I’m really sorry. Another time?”

“Bugger.” Mitch said. “Yeah, alright. But you’re buying the first round as apology!”

John crossed a finger over his heart and held up two fingers, “Scouts honour. Let me know when and where and I’ll be there.”

Scott watched as John and Mitch embraced again, pecking each other on the lips as they said their goodbyes, and then those baby blues were on him again. John smiled a smile that lit up the room and held his arms out to Scott. “It’s a rule. No one comes into my dressing room and leaves without a hug. It’s bad luck.”

With a nervous laugh, Scott stepped forward and found himself in a very tight embrace from a very good looking man. His arms automatically encircled the slender form of John Barrowman, hands pressing against the muscular planes of John’s back. John was shorter than him by a few inches, but much stronger, and Scott thought he would melt right there at this beautiful man’s feet. When John pulled back from the hug, Scott was surprised to find his face in John’s strong grasp and being pulled forward into a similar peck on the lips that John and Mitch had shared.

“Drive safe.” John said with a smile as he finally released Scott.

Scott stood there, dazed, for several seconds until Mitch grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the open door. “Come on, you. What’s say you and I go for a drink anyways? Who needs Prettyboy Barrowman tagging along and staking claim to all the good ones anyways.”

John’s laughter followed them down the hall and Scott finally found his equilibrium again. “Is he always like that?”

“Like what?”

“ _That_.” Scott said with emphasis, as if it helped to clarify his meaning. “He’s known you how long? I can see him giving you a hug and a kiss when you leave. But me? He’s only just met me. How does he know I don’t have some sort of lip fungus?”

Mitch gave him a horrified look.

“I don’t!” Scott declared with a laugh. “But he doesn’t know that.”

“You fancy him, don’t you?” Mitch replied by way of answer.

“I never said that.”

“Bollocks. Your mouth may not have said it, but the rest of you did. You practically had little hearts dancing over your head. Can’t blame you, if John was my type, I’d have snagged him up ages ago.”

“You two aren’t dating then?”

Mitch laughed. “Who? Me and John? Bloody hell, no. He’s with Paco the Poofter, though I don’t see why. Paco put the ‘uh’ in ‘Diva.’ That’s why I wanted John to meet you. He’s not happy with Paco, I want him to see what else is out there for him.”

“I’m not a home wrecker, Mitch.” Scott argued, affronted by the fact that Mitch hadn’t shared any of this beforehand. “I’m not chatting up someone else’s boyfriend.”

“But you do fancy him, don’t you?”

“Toss off, Mitch. I’m not going there.”

There was a slight pause as they exited the theatre. “He fancied you.”

Scott wanted to be angry with Mitch, but the odd little flip in his stomach kept any real anger at the situation from sticking. “How’d you gather that?”

“Because that ‘rule’ he told you about was a load of bollocks.” Mitch said with a grin. Scott’s feet stopped working and he stood stock still on the sidewalk. He could hear Mitch laugh as the other man turned to face him with a shit-eating grin. “Shall I give him your number, then?”

Scott’s face went completely crimson, which only made Mitch laugh harder. “Toss off, Mitch.” He said again, shoving his friend lightly as they headed into the nearby pub.

“Okay, hypothetically speaking—“ Mitch continued.

Scott sighed at took a seat at the bar next to his friend. “Give it up, will you?”

“Hear me out,” Mitch whinged again. Scott motioned for two pints to the bartender, then turned his attention on Mitch, giving him an overdramatic motion to continue. Mitch grinned. “If he were to call—“

“He’s not going to, he’s got a boyfriend.”

“But if he did,” Mitch persisted, “would you go out with him?”

“Not if he’s dating someone else.”

“Say he isn’t.”

“But he is.”

Mitch’s hand was quick as lightning as it came up and slapped the back of Scott’s head. 

“Hey!” Scott protested.

“Can’t you just play the bloody game?!”

Scott sighed, narrowing his eyes and rubbing his head. “Fine. In a hypothetical situation where he was single and rang me up… yes, I would absolutely go out with him. Happy?”

Mitch grinned. “Immensely.”

“Don’t go telling him all this either.”

“Why not? I told you he fancies you. Why wouldn’t you want him to know you fancy him as well?”

“I told you I’m not a home wrecker. I’m not going to be the reason he breaks it off with whatshisname.”

“Paco the Pussy.”

“I thought it was Poofter?”

“Same thing, innit?”

Scott snorted a laugh and took a pull of his beer, turning introspective for a minute and allowing himself to think about it just for a fleeting moment. “He is bloody gorgeous, isn’t he?”

Mitch laughed and raised his glass at Scott. “Knew you fancied him.”

“The fact remains that he’s in a relationship and he’s entirely out of my league.”

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Scott. John didn’t even know the guy’s last name, but it didn’t matter. Scott was the guy he was going to spend the rest of his life with. He knew it. Somehow, someway. As sure as he’d always known he would be an entertainer, he knew that Scott was the one. There were just two things standing in the way of John making that happen: Mitch and Paco. 

Mitch had brought Scott to meet him fully knowing John was in a relationship, so the question was: Why? Were they dating? Scott didn’t really seem like Mitch’s type other than being absolutely stunning—those eyes, especially. Soft and brilliantly colored. John would not soon forget those eyes… He should have asked Mitch the night he’d introduced him to Scott if the two were seeing each other, but for whatever reason, he hadn’t. Now, days later, it would seem weird to suddenly call Mitch up and start asking him about Scott. He didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes or have Mitch think that John was trying to cut in on him or anything. Plus, there was Paco to deal with, and several weeks left in the show. It wasn’t like he was going to have time to really get to know Scott the way he wanted to.

 _I’ll deal with the show, then with Paco, then with Scott._ John decided, and left it at that.

Or so he tried. 

Each time he was on stage, John wondered in the back of his mind if Scott was in the audience. It made him somewhat brazen in his performance, to think that Scott was watching him. Those endlessly blue eyes tracking his every movement across the stage. Somewhere in one of those seats, somewhere beyond the stage lights that prevented John from seeing anything past the third row in the audience. Would Scott have come back to see him? Oh, how John hoped he would. How John hoped Scott would appear in his dressing room door again, without Mitch. How he hoped Scott felt the same for John as John did for him.

“An' ye dinnae e'en know his lest name??” Carole’s tone suggested she was finding great amusement at John’s expense.

“Dinnae mak’ me hing up oan ye,” John warned his sister in a severe Glaswegian accent. The weekly trans-Atlantic call to his older sibling was one of John’s greatest delights, and there wasn’t much that would make him miss the call, so he knew the threat would be enough of a chastise to Carole. 

“Okay, okay.” Carole yielded, reigning in her amusement as much as she could. “Bit it’s a giggle, John. Ah mean, ye saw th' bloke fur...what? Fife seconds? An' ye think yoo're in loove wi' heem. An' ye dornt e'en know his lest nam!”

“Ah phain ye up an' teel ye i've mit th' man Ah want tae spend mah life wi', an' ye gang an' hae a laugh? Whit kin' ay sister ur ye?”

“Th' kin' 'at will teel ye awa' wae th' fairies an' still teel ye tae gang fur it.” Carole said seriously. “But ye better be damn sure afair ye gang an' make an erse it ay yerself.”

The conversation with Carole stuck with John for days after the call. She was right, as always. He needed to figure this out. He needed to talk to Mitch and find out more about his relationship with Scott. If they were dating, then that was that, John would back off. 

_After the show._ John reminded himself. _After the show, after the show, after the show._

His plan to talk to Mitch, however, did not quite work out the way he anticipated. Before Rope had even finished its run, John had been cast as Claude in the 25th Anniversary production of Hair in London and rehearsals were set to begin right away. The production would run nearly two months, which meant that if he didn’t call Mitch up now, it would be almost December before he had a chance. He could feel Scott slipping through his fingers like sand, and so before he left the theatre on the last night of rehearsal before the show was set to begin, John finally got the courage to phone Mitch.

“Mitch. Hey, it’s John…still up for that drink?”

“Well, it’s about bloody time. I thought you’d never call, you little twat.”

John furrowed his brow, slightly taken aback by the gruff tone of Mitch’s voice. “Sorry?” 

“I’ve only left you about a dozen bloody messages to give us a call, now haven’t I? How long have you been back in London? You couldn’t pick up the phone?”

“A couple of weeks,” John confessed. “I’m sorry, I never got any messages. Did you leave them on the machine?”

“No, I left them with your bloody boyfriend.”

“Hmm.” John said with slight irritation. “Well, I’m sorry, you know how he is... So, what do you say? Are you and Scott free for a drink?”

“I am, but Scott’s in Bristol for the weekend.”

“What’s in Bristol?”

“His sister-in-law’s just had another baby,” Mitch answered. “He went up to Bristol to help his brother out for a few days.”

John found himself smiling at the small insight into Scott’s life. “That’s too bad. I was really hoping to see him again.”

“Yeah? Well, next time call sooner, you great git.”

Mitch and John agreed to meet up half an hour later at one of John’s favorite gay bars on Waldour Street: Village. It was a great spot to both hang out with friends and ogle the eye candy of all the hotties who frequented the bar. John loved it for that very reason. He was disappointed that Scott wouldn’t be joining Mitch that night, but it did give John the opportunity to ask his friend about the other man.

“So, time to dish, Mitchy,” John grinned excitedly as they took to the end of the bar with an open sightline to the rest of the room. “Are you and Scott dating, or what? What’s the scoop?”

Mitch laughed and shook his head. “Christ…I knew that’s where this was going. Can neither of you ask how I’m doing? He’s done the same thing, you know. Interrogatin’ me about you. ”

“Oh really?” John felt his heart rate quicken and he shifted on his barstool, leaning in closer as if he might miss something important. “Interrogating you about what in particular?”

“This and that. How long I’ve known you, how we met…blah blah blah. I’ll tell you right now, Johnny Boy, until you get rid of that baggage you call a boyfriend, Scott won’t go out with you. There’ll be no double dating with him; he’s very old fashioned, that one.”

“But you think he would go out with me?”

“Think?” Mitch snorted, as the bartender passed them each a pint. “Think my arse; I know, John. He fancies you. _Really_ fancies you.”

John’s face was set in a wide smile and he couldn’t even break it long enough to sip his beer. Mitch watched his reaction knowingly.

“Guess it’s safe to say you fancy him, too, eh?”

“Oh yeah,” John said with a laugh. “There’s just something about him… I haven’t stopped thinking about him since that night. I really wish I’d phoned you sooner than today, time just kept getting away from me.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. Scott thinks you’re way out of his league anyways. He didn’t want me to even give you his phone number because he was convinced you wouldn’t call.”

“Please,” John sputtered in disbelief, but the look on Mitch’s face made him think twice. “You’re serious? _He_ thinks _I’m_ out of _his_ league? Why? Has he looked in a mirror? He’s fucking gorgeous. I can’t believe he’s still single. He is single, right?”

“What are you, deaf? I just told you he’s a one-man sort of bloke who won’t go out with you until you get rid of Paco. Read between the lines, son… Yes, he’s single.”

John blinked at Mitch’s griping and short tempered responses. “God, you’re a ray of sunshine, Mitchy.”

Mitch dipped his fingertips in the head of his beer and flicked them in John’s face. 

With an amused laugh, John rubbed the beer foam out of his eye and off his cheek. “Okay, so what else do you know about him?”

“I know everything about him; question is what do you want to know?”

“Everything.” John grinned.

“Bloody hell,” Mitch sighed, feigning agony. “I’m going to need another pint if you want to know everything.”

“I’ll keep you well lubricated, Mitch, you just fill me in.”

“Done.” 

John listened with rapt interest as his friend described Scott in detail. An architect who studied at one of the top universities in London, Scott was 30, but certainly did not look it. He had a love of books and puzzles, anything to exercise his mind, and preferred staying in rather than going out to the pubs or clubs, but still enjoyed having a good time. The youngest of three children, Scott had an older brother (Steven, married with four children now) and a sister called Sandie (also married with children).

“Wow…his parents really had the ‘S’ names planned out, didn’t they?”

Mitch laughed, “If only you knew, John… His parents are called Stirling and Sheelagh. _And_ , his first name isn’t even really Scott. Scott’s one of his middle names. But don’t let on that you know that. He hates his first name.”

John’s grin deepened. “What is his first name?”

“Sheridan.”

“Seriously?”

“Sheridan Scott Robert Gill.” Mitch nodded. “At least they spared him a third S.”

“Scott Gill.” John said, mostly to himself, a fond smile plastered on his face. 

Mitch started laughing next to John, shaking his head. “Bloody hell, I should have never introduced the two of you.”

“So, he’s gorgeous, loyal, brilliant…What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing as far as I know. He’s far too shy to actually chat anyone up, so the blokes he’s been with have all approached him first. They’ve all been a bunch of tossers, if you ask me. Last one cheated on Scott _twice_ before he finally kicked him to the curb.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.” Mitch took a pull on his beer. “So, what do you plan to do about Paco, then?”

“Does it makes me a total dick if I dump him for a guy I’m not even going out with yet?”

“Do you really care? I mean, it’s not going to stop you, is it?”

“No.”

“Then there’s your answer. Drop the deadweight and ask Scott out. No one gets why the bloody hell you and Paco are even still an item.”

John rolled his eyes. “Will you at least give me Scott’s number now that I’ve decided to dump Paco?”

Mitch grinned and grabbed a bar napkin, snapping his fingers at the bartender for a pen, then wrote out the ten digit number. As John left the club that night, Scott’s number tucked safely in the pocket of his jeans, he felt like skipping with glee all the way back to his flat, but managed to control himself. He knew he still had to deal with Paco and end the relationship as tactfully as he could, and he’d have to wait until Monday to call Scott when the other man was back from Bristol. Still, all things considered, John couldn’t imagine things working out more perfectly than they were. 

When John arrived back at the flat, he was surprised that Paco wasn’t there to berate him in Spanish for going out without him, but that suited him just fine. He grabbed the cordless phone off the charging station and leapt over the arm of the couch, landing sideways on the cushions as he punched in his sister’s number.

“Hello?” Carole answered in her American accent.

“Scott Gill.” John replied in his Scottish brogue.

It took Carole a few seconds to place her brother’s voice and then figure out what he was on about, but the dots quickly connected. “Weel, a’m glad ye know his nam noo. Does this mean yoo’v got a new boyfriend, John?”

“Nae yit. But suin...”

To be continued...

Translation:  
Carole: And you don’t even know his last name?  
John: Don’t make me hang up on you.  
Carole: Okay, okay. But it is a laugh, John. I mean, you saw this guy for…what? Five seconds? And you think you’re in love with him? And you don’t even know his last name!   
John: I phone you up and tell you I’ve met the man I want to spend my life with, and you go and have a laugh? What kind of sister are you?  
Carole: The kind that will tell you you’re crazy and still tell you to go for it. But you better be damn sure before you make an arse of yourself.  
Later…  
Carole: Well, I’m glad you know his name now. Does this mean you’ve got a new boyfriend, John?  
John: Not yet. But soon…


	3. Chapter 3

The sounds of Dusty Springfield filled the small room that Scott called his home office. The man himself had his head bent low over a large piece of drafting paper, pencil gripped lightly between his teeth as he measured out a precise mark with his bow compass. On his right, his graphite pencils were neatly arranged by lead hardness; to this left, the tools of his trade: architectural scale, divider, protractor, erasers and various other gadgets and gizmos needed for drawing up a design. While most people were starting to rely more and more on CAD software for their designs, Scott hadn’t made that leap just yet, preferring the feel of a pencil in his hand over that of a mouse. 

Selecting another pencil without looking, Scott had barely put the lead to the paper when the phone jangled to life next to him. Sticking one pencil behind his ear, Scott took the other out of his mouth as he picked up the cordless phone sitting on the edge of the desk. “Hello?”

“Well?”

Scott’s brow furrowed as he tried to puzzle out what Mitch was asking. “Well what?”

“What do you mean ‘well what?’” Mitch whinged incredulously. “Has. He. Phoned. You?”

“Has who phoned me?”

There was a loud sigh on the other end of the line.

“You mean John?” Scott asked with a perplexed chuckle.

“No; I mean our Lord and Savior.” Mitch replied sarcastically. “Of course John, you bloody idiot. Tell me he phoned you.”

“Why would he?” Scott’s brow furrowed again.

Dead silence greeted Scott for several seconds. “He didn’t phone you? After all that, he didn’t phone you?!”

“All of what? What the hell are you on about, Mitch?”

“John phoned me up last Friday when you’d gone up to see Steven. We had a drink and he asked me everything about you. Before he left, he asked for your number. I figured he would have used it by now.”

Scott’s head was reeling. “He asked about me? Bloody hell, Mitch--why are you just now telling me this? Thanks for the warning!”

“Well, he hasn’t phoned yet, now has he. Consider this your sodding warning, you ungrateful prat.”

“Sod off…” Scott scoffed without any real malice. “Really though…what’d he ask?”

“I’m bloody tired of playing Cupid for you two. Ask him yourself.”

“So he’s back in London, then?” Scott could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his palms slightly sweaty with anticipation.

“Yeah, he’s doing a show at one of the theatres.” Mitch answered offhandedly. “I can’t believe he hasn’t phoned you.”

“Maybe a better offer came up.” Scott mused as he leaned back in the chair and swiveled from side to side.

Mitch sputtered a laugh. “Doubt that.”

“Why? Guy like him probably gets propositions every time he turns around.” 

“Yeah, but he wants to be propositioned by you.”

“Get off.”

“I’m serious! He’s getting rid of that pantywaist prick of a boyfriend he’s got because he knows you won’t go out with him if he doesn’t.”

“Mitch!” Scott shouted in exasperation. “When I told you I’m not a home wrecker, I didn’t mean for you to tell him that!”

“He needed incentive to dump Paco; I gave it to him, that’s all.” 

“And I was that incentive?”

“You are pretty inspiring,” Mitch said with a teasing lilt in his tone.

“Ha. Ha.” Scott deadpanned. “Then why hasn’t he phoned?”

“That’s what I want to know.” Mitch groused. “That’s John for you though…a maddening whirlwind of…well… John.”

Scott laughed, “That’s very helpful, Mitchell, thank you.”

“When you get to know him, you’ll understand that ‘John’ is not just a noun, but a verb and adjective as well.”

“ _If_ I get to know him.”

“ _When_.” Mitch gave a long, dramatic sigh. “I’m going to ring him up and then wring his neck. Should I tell him hello from you?”

Scott found himself smiling at the thought of Mitch giving John hell for not having called. “Yeah, sure…why not? Tell him hi.” 

When the call ended, Scott stared at the phone in his hand, perplexed and exhilarated all at once. Of course he hadn’t forgotten about John Barrowman, but he had put the man to the back of his mind. Being with John had become an utter impossibility as days turned into weeks. Now, out of the blue, John was calling up Mitch and the two had been talking about him? The thought made Scott’s stomach roil with nerves as he wondered what the hell Mitch had told John about him.

Resolving not to think about it, Scott set the phone back on the end of his desk and took a deep breath as he centered himself over the drafting table again. “Right.” He said aloud, twirling the pencil with his fingers and trying to remember what exactly he’d been doing before the call. As he resumed sketching, Scott’s eyes kept drifting to the phone, anxious for it to ring, for John to call him and ask him out. Twice he even checked to make sure there was still a dial tone. When he picked up the phone a third time, Scott threw his pencil down and sighed.

“This is so bloody stupid.” 

Getting up, he carried the phone into the living room, setting it on the charging station, and picked up his keys and leather jacket. Anytime Scott needed to clear his head, he’d go for a night ride on his bike. Tonight was definitely a night he needed to clear his head and calm his anxiety. His head was racing with the thought that John might actually call him…or that he might not. Scott knew he had no control over what would or would not be, but those feelings that had come over him at the theatre—the feelings that told him John was ‘the one’—hadn’t subsided since that night. Now, knowing that John was thinking of him, too, was making his whole body thrum with excited tension. 

Scott straddled the blue Yamaha, fixed his helmet into place, and kicked the bike to life. The engine made the bike frame vibrate between his legs, and he closed his eyes briefly as he enjoyed the sensation before twisting his right hand enough to throttle the bike forward. Taking several side streets to avoid the main roads where there would still be traffic, Scott let his mind drift. He thought about what Mitch had said about John breaking up with Paco, and the fact that he’d been the reason for it. Scott wasn’t sure how he felt about that… Was it wrong to feel a little smug? Smug, but guilty…and a little apprehensive. Granted Scott didn’t know about John’s history with Paco, but if he was breaking up with the guy simply to go out with someone else, that didn’t exactly bolster Scott’s confidence. What was to say John wouldn’t do the same to him down the line?

The sound of squealing tires and a blaring horn jolted Scott from his thoughts and he realized too late that he had run a red light. Making a split second decision to try and avoid getting hit, Scott twisted the throttle as far as it would go, leaning over the handlebars to keep the bike from flipping over as it lurched forward. When he cleared the intersection, heart pumping wildly in his throat, he looked back over his shoulder to see the Jag stopped in the middle of the road. For a brief moment, he wondered if he should go back and apologize, but knew the other driver would probably ream him out from being irresponsible, and so Scott decided instead to make a sharp right at the next light and go back home before he wound up as a hood ornament.

The near-collision had almost faded to the back of Scott’s mind by the time his usual mid-week lunch date with Mitch rolled around. John still hadn’t phoned, which had only added to his disappointment, but Scott was again resolved to not think about it. Standing on the curb to hail a taxi to the pub where he and Mitch were meeting, Scott’s eye caught on the shiny Jag that was slowly rolling by. His heart caught in his throat again as he realized it was the same Jag from the intersection. Had the driver recognized him somehow? Would he pull over and give Scott the lecture he’d avoided the other night? Scott squinted his eyes, trying to see past the glare of the sun on the passenger window to get a look at the driver, but all he could see was a glimpse of a what appeared to be a very good looking younger bloke before his taxi pulled up to the curb.

The Jag sped up, leaving Scott blinking after it in mild confusion as he wondered why someone young and good looking would drive an old man’s car.

“Oi!” The cabbie yelled at him through the open passenger window. “You gettin’ in or ain’t ya?”

Scott shook himself and slid into the back of the taxi, giving the cabbie the name and address of the pub, then sat back as he tried to place why the driver of the Jag had seemed somehow familiar to him.  
As always, Mitch was waiting on Scott when he arrived, a hot basket of fish and chips already served up on Scott’s side of the table.

“I think I’m going to go see John’s current play,” Mitch said without preamble. “Want to come?”

“No, not really.” Scott answered somewhat gloomily.

Mitch’s face puckered as if he’d tasted something foul. “What? Why not?”

“There’s not much point, is there? If he hasn’t called me by now, he’s got no intention to. I’m not going to torture myself by going to the theatre just to gawp at him.”

“You don’t know that he won’t call.”

Scott gave Mitch a pointed look. “Let it go. I’m tired of thinking about John bloody Barrowman. I’ve had a shit weekend, nearly got myself run over, and jumped out of my skin every time the stupid phone rang. And I hold you personally responsible for the entire mess.”

“If you really want me to butt out, I will, but—“

“No but’s,” Scott said definitively. “You’ve given him my number. The ball’s in his court. I’m not chasing him, and I’m not having you chase him down for me.”

Mitch held up his hands, “Have it your way, then. I still plan on going to the show. I’ll get an extra ticket in case you change your mind.”

“Thanks, but don’t bother. I’m not going to change my mind. For all we know, he decided to stick it out with Paco.”

“If he did, I’ll bloody well kill him.”

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

“I got my hair, I got my head, I got my brains, I got my ears, I got my eyes, I got my nose, I got my teeeeeth. I got my tongue, I got my chin, I got my neck, I got my tits, I got my heart, I got my soul, I got my back, I got my AHH!!"

The shower curtain ripped back as John was in the middle of rehearsing his ‘I Got Life’ number, making him shriek during one of his favorite lines of the song as a gust of cold air chilled his naked body. Wiping shampoo from his eyes, John saw a very furious Spaniard standing at the edge of the tub, gripping a very familiar white napkin.

“What the hell is this, John?!” Paco demanded.

“Shit.” John muttered. He’d left the napkin next to the phone after he’d hung up with Carole. 

“Yeah, ‘shit.’” Paco seethed, wadding the napkin up and throwing it in John’s face. The napkin plinked off of the bridge of John’s nose and bounced into the swirling soapy water at his feet, but he dared not scramble to pick it up. “Are you cheating on me?! Whose number is that?! Where you planning on tell me!? Answer me, coño!”

“If you’d shut the fuck up for a minute, I would!” John shouted over Paco. “Jesus Christ, will you at least let me finish my shower? Then we can talk.”

Paco rolled his eyes as he turned away, muttering under his breath as he left the bathroom, “Que te folle un pez, cabrón; que te den por culo.” 

John waited until Paco was out of view before squatting down and retrieving the sodden napkin. He tried to carefully pull back the wet folds, but the napkin very nearly disintegrated in his hands, taking Scott’s number with it. “Fuck.” John muttered, slinging the wet paper towards the trashcan. He knew he could get the number again, but he also knew Mitch would give him shit for it.

Finishing his shower as quickly as possible, John climbed out and wrapped himself in a towel as he padded through the flat looking for Paco. The fuming Spaniard was sitting on the couch, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at John, obviously waiting for him.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t leave you.”

“I can’t.” John said honestly as he sat down on the edge of the coffee table in front of his lover. “I don’t have one good reason for us to stay together.”

Paco closed his eyes as if in pain, turning his head to the side. “Who is he?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me!” Paco shouted, clutching at his chest. John could see the tears collecting in the deep brown eyes. “You owe me that much, John.”

“I haven’t cheated on you.” John said by way of answer. “It was just a phone number, and he wasn’t even the one who gave it to me, so stop crying.”

“How can you say ‘stop crying?’ This is it, isn’t it? You’re breaking up with me.”

John swallowed the lump in his throat. He knew this had been coming for some time; they both knew it, but now that it was here, it wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped. “You could break up with me first; be the man who dumped John Barrowman rather than one of the ones who was dumped by me.”

Paco shook his head, “You’re such an asshole, John. “

The words stung, even though John knew they shouldn’t and he watched Paco get up and take a look around the flat. “I’ll come back when you’re at the theatre and get my things.”

“Paco…” John called out as the Spaniard moved towards the door.

Paco’s hand hovered on the knob before he looked back at John. “I loved you. More than anything in this world, I loved you. If there’s one thing I want you to remember about me, John, it’s how much you’ve broken my heart. After all these years, this is how it ends? Fuck you, John. And fuck him for taking you from me.”

With that, Paco was gone, leaving John feeling somewhat unsure about the way it had ended. He knew he could have had a little more grace and understanding, but surely Paco hadn’t been blindsided by the breakup. They hadn’t been happy for so long…had they? Paco’s declaration of love unsteadied John, but what’s done was done. He was officially single again, and free to phone Scott up and ask him out. He just needed the number again…

“Right.” John said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’ll wait until Monday, call Mitch up, get Scott’s number again, and make a date for Friday night. Piece of cake.”

\--

John should have known better than to use a phrase like ‘piece of cake.’ Rehearsals had run late every night that week, and the feuding with Paco hadn’t ended with the slamming of the door. The Spaniard had done everything short of tying John down to try and win him back, becoming increasingly angry and emotional each time John told him it was over. Between dealing with Paco and getting ready for opening night of _Hair_ , John felt run down and ragged. He always intended to call Mitch at the end of the day, or whenever he had a break, but something always came up. Before he knew it, the show was in its second week running.

“Do you enjoy toying with people?”

John looked up at the reflection of Mitch in his vanity mirror as he wiped off the heavy stage makeup. Though Mitch was casually leaning against the door frame, John could tell by the crossed arms and hard lines in his face that Mitch wasn’t happy. “I’m not toying with anyone, I—“

“If you say you’ve been bloody busy, so help me God, Barrowman, I’ll walk out of here right now.”

“I _have_ been, but that wasn’t what I was going to say.”

Mitch sighed dramatically and moved to sit on the vanity table as John scrubbed his face. “Let’s have your excuse, then.”

“Do you want the long version or the short version?”

“Doesn’t matter either way; Scott’s washed his hands of you. Doesn’t think you’re ever going to call him and doesn’t care anymore. Told me to butt out, as well.”

“The number got trashed.” John said, ignoring Mitch’s goading. Mitch’s face registered surprise but John held up his hand to stall the rant he knew was coming. “I left it sitting by the phone without thinking. I was in the shower when Paco came home and found it. Needless to say, he immediately assumed I was cheating and…well, Scott’s number was pretty much destroyed by him in the fight. I’ve been meaning to call you to get it again, but…” 

“Yeah, yeah…” Mitch rolled his eyes. “You’ve been busy…but you did intend to call him, right?”

“Of course I did. I still _do_ intend to call him. You should have brought him here tonight so I could tell him all this myself, in person.”

“I tried, he wasn’t interested.”

John chewed on the inner corner of his lower lip for a moment, considering that Mitch might be telling the truth about Scott losing interest in him. “You don’t think he’d still go out with me?”

“Of course he would; the little wanker’s still mad about you, he just think’s your puttin’ him on,” Mitch relented, tapping his chin in thought. “Listen, I’m having a holiday party Christmas Eve eve—it’s a Thursday, so most people won’t be leaving town until the following day. I’ll invite Scott; if you’re there, then we can forget the whole telephone business and he’ll see you’re serious.”

“Perfect.” John smiled, already thinking about the party and what he would wear. “What if I still want to talk to him in the meantime?”

“Let me talk to him first, he’s still a bit sore that you didn’t phone.”

“I told you I—“

“I know, I know…” Mitch held up his hands in surrender. “But _he_ doesn’t know that, does he? Look, it’ll be better coming from me; trust me.”

“So you’re not going to give me his number?”

“You can get it yourself at the party, John.” Mitch got up and headed for the door. “Good show, by the way.”

“Yeah…thanks.” John called back, somewhat ungratefully as Mitch left him empty handed.

\--

John had felt like a kid counting the days until Christmas as he anticipated Mitch’s party and seeing Scott again. Every time he had talked to his sister on the phone, he had asked her how he should approach Scott: Should he go for him as soon as he saw him, or pretend to just casually come across him during the party? John didn’t want to look desperate, but Carole had assured him that he was in no danger of looking desperate at this point.

 _“Yoo've kept th' puir loon waitin' fur months, John.”_ Carole had laughed. _“Fur god's sake, jist donner up tae heem an' say ‘hello, aam john; caur fur a ride?’"_

_“Weel, Ah guess that's a body way ay cuttin' tae th' chase.”_

By the day of the party, John still hadn’t made up his mind of what he was going to say to Scott when he finally saw him again, but Carole’s suggestion was still not far from the top of his list. He wondered how Scott would react if he just strutted up to him and kissed him Casanova-style without any preamble. What little he knew of Scott told him that that act would probably be met with mortification, though.

As he searched through his wardrobe for the perfect jumper to compliment his eyes, John went over his opening line again and again.

“Hi, Scott, it’s good to see you again. Thought you’d never hear from me, huh?” He gave a slight, cheesy laugh that died seconds later, then shook his head. “Hell no.” 

“Hi, Scott. How’s it going?” John shook his head again. “Too casual.”

He pulled a dark blue jumper over his head and ran his fingers through his hair as he looked himself over in the bathroom mirror. “It’s really nice to see you again, Scott.” Yeah, that would work. Maybe a hug just to show him he was still interested and had been looking forward to seeing him. Satisfied, John spritzed himself with a little cologne and took a deep breath, scolding himself in the mirror. “Don’t screw up this time.” 

When John arrived at Mitch’s flat, he could see people crammed out on the balcony three floors up, drinks in hand and looking dreadfully cold. John had always known that Mitch knew more people than God, but he didn’t expect him to invite them all to his Christmas party. Making his way up three flights of stairs, John took several deep breaths, almost laughing at how nervous he was about seeing Scott again. 

The door was open, guests spilling outside as John made his way in. He surreptitiously scanned the crowd, looking for two people in particular: Mitch and Scott. John wasn’t sure how many friends Mitch shared with Scott, and was hoping the two would be hanging out together so that John didn’t spend all evening, wandering around looking lost while he tried to find one or the other. When his eyes finally landed on Mitch, he was disappointed that Scott wasn’t next to him. Mitch spotted John and cringed slightly, waving him over, and John’s heart sank, knowing immediately that Scott hadn’t come to the party.

“I wasn’t sure if I should phone you beforehand or not,” Mitch said, pulling something out of his pocket. “Scott’s come down with a flu or something, but he had me drop by his flat and pick this up for you—because _he’s_ not a total cad and didn’t want to leave you hanging.”

“Shut up, Mitch.” John grumbled, snatching the precisely folded slip of paper from Mitch’s hand and opening it curiously. Written in fine-tipped black Sharpie was Scott’s neat slanted print handwriting:

**_Guess it’s my turn to keep you waiting.  
Happy Christmas.  
Scott   
0207 271 8911_ **

TBC

Note: Please do not dial that phone number. I made it up and have no idea if it's a number in service or not. Please do not ring it trying to find Scott or John. 

 

Translations:

Spanish:   
**Coño**  
Cunt

 **Que te folle un pez, cabrón; que te den por culo.**  
I hope you get fucked by a fish, asshole; up yours.

Scottish:  
 **Yoo've kept th' puir loon waitin' fur months, John. Fur god's sake, jist donner up tae heem an' say ‘hello, aam john; caur fur a ride?'**  
You’ve kept the poor lad waiting for months, John. For god’s sake, just go up to him and say ‘Hello, I’m John; care for a shag?’

 **Weel, Ah guess that's a body way ay cuttin' tae th' chase.**  
Well, I guess that’s one way of cutting to the chase.


	5. Chapter 5

Scott sneezed three times, paused for two seconds, then sneezed again before blowing his red, raw nose into his handkerchief. “Ugh…I’m dying, Sandie.”

“You’re the only person I know who gets the bloody flu every Christmas, and still thinks you’re going to die from it.” Sandie laid the back of her hand on her brother’s brow. “Still feverish. I’ll get you a cuppa.”

“It’s rubbish you’re here instead of with everyone else.” Scott muttered through his nasal congestion. 

“You’re welcome.” Sandie mocked wryly from the kitchen. 

“Really though, you shouldn’t be here taking care of me. You should be with everyone else; your own family.”

“I see my lot every day, Sherry. How often do I get to take care of my ickle baby brother?” Sandie teased, adopting a coo in her voice as she came back to the living room after putting the kettle on the stove.

“Stop it.” Scott warned. “And _don’t_ call me ‘Sherry.’ You know I hate that.”

“I know, that’s why I do it. It’s my right as your sister to annoy the snot out of you.” Sandie grinned, then settled at the other end of the couch near Scott’s feet, stealing the end of his blanket. “Why are you so mopey this year anyways? It’s certainly not the first Christmas you’ve been too sickly to join the family festivities; certainly won’t be the last. Might be a first if you don’t end up in the hospital on breathing treatments, though.”

“Ha. Ha.” He deadpanned as Sandie crossed her fingers in mock hope, then protested her assessment of his condition. “I’m not mopey.”

Sandie gave him a disbelieving look.

“I’m just…” Scott sighed.

“It’s a boy, isn’t it?” Sandie asked keenly.

“You could at least pretend that my love life disgusts you. You know, like a normal human being.”

“Ooooh, so you’re in love, are you?” Sandie clapped her hands together excitedly. “Dish.”

“I didn’t say I was in love,” he corrected. “I said ‘love life;’ big difference, San. Especially since mine is non-existent.”

“Pish posh. There’s a man behind your mood, and I still want details, so…spill it.”

“There’s nothing to spill,” Scott shrugged. “I met a bloke back in September that I’ve completely failed to get on with. Mitchell’s been trying to set us up for months, but one thing or another keeps coming up. I was supposed to meet up with him last night at a party, but—alas—my stellar respiratory system had other plans. I’ve given him my number, but…I don’t think he’ll phone.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“He’s completely out of my league.” Scott sighed. “Gorgeous. Talented. American.”

“Being American makes him out of your league?” Sandie asked doubtfully.

“No,” Scott shook his head with a slight laugh. “The gorgeous and talented part makes him out of my league. He’s got an amazing voice; I could listen to him talk all day and never tire of it. And he’s just…truly beautiful. Devastatingly handsome, really. The first time I saw him was at a theatre where he was performing. The lights came up and…it was just him. He was like a lighthouse on a dark night.”

Sandie watched her brother’s face as he described this man he had fallen for and her heart ached for him. “Cor, you really are in love, aren’t you?”

Scott looked at her, offering a miserable smile as the kettle began to sing in the kitchen. “Tea’s done.”

\--

Christmas morning found London covered in a blanket of powdery white snow. Sandie had pounced on Scott at the first light of day, jumping up and down on his bed in her flannel pajamas and shouting “It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas! Come on, Da, can we open our pressies!?” 

Jolted from his NyQuil-induced slumber, Scott coughed his airway passage clear and glared at Sandie. “If I wasn’t on my deathbed, I would murder you right now.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what Dad used to say to us,” Sandie grinned as she fell onto the bed. “So, are you going to lie here in your own filth and germs all day, or would you care to get up, have some breakfast, and open your gifts?”

“Can’t I do both?” Scott asked, flinging his arm over his eyes.

A well-placed smack found his leg beneath the bundle of blankets as Sandie huffed at him. “If you think I’m going to serve you breakfast in bed, you’ve got another thing coming to you! Get up, go take a shower, and come have some coffee and toast. It’ll make you feel better.”

Scott peered at Sandie from under his arm with a bemused smirk. “Oh my God, it’s finally happened.”

“What?”

“You’ve turned into mum.”

Several more smacks followed his comment until Scott retracted the remark and finally managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed. He felt as if his blood had turned to lead, his whole body felt slow and heavy, and there was a disturbing rattle in his chest every time he took a breath. Sandie helped him to the bathroom, turning on the hot water until she could see the steam rising, then left Scott to his devices.

The water felt like molten hot lava as it rained down on him, but Scott managed not to scream bloody murder, knowing from experience that the hot water would help to clear his sinuses and help him breathe better for a while. It also made him feel like the germs were being sterilized and washed away. He spent several minutes, letting the water hit his back, then turned and let it rain down over his chest. Scott took his time grooming and properly washing from head to toe before he climbed out, blew his nasal passages clear of the gunk that had loosened up and got dressed in a comfortable pair of lounge pants and a long-sleeved shirt.

Breakfast was waiting when he emerged—a full English breakfast of eggs, beans, sausage, toast and coffee—and his stomach growled appreciatively as Sandie set them up with TV trays in the living room. The television was switched on and playing the intro to the BBC’s _Live and Kicking_ Christmas progamme as Scott settled down and picked up his mug.

“Aren’t you a little old to be watching this?” Scott teased.

“I do have children, you know.” Sandie scoffed. “Besides, one of the hosts is an absolute dream.”

Scott snorted a laugh into his coffee, his eyes drifting towards the screen as the intro finished and the cameras panned in on the three programme hosts. The shock that greeted him on the screen resulted in an inhalation of hot coffee that left him coughing and gasping for air as he tried to keep his focus on the television, not believing what he was seeing.

“Good grief, Scott!” Sandie yelped, patting him hard on the back to help dislodge the hot liquid from his windpipe. “Are you alright?”

Scott ignored Sandie as he listened to the familiar voice call out the lineup for the morning show, waiting for the cameras to go back to a live shot of the host and confirm what he had seen. 

“Scott?”

“Shhh!!” He flapped an impatient hand at Sandie, eyes and ears trained on the screen. It felt like an eternity passed before the cameras finally panned back in on the hosts. Sure enough, there on his television, was the man of his dreams. Dressed in tight black denim trousers, a white button down, and the most hideous vest and matching bow-tie Scott had ever seen, was John Barrowman.

“That’s him…” he uttered, almost inaudibly. “Oh my God, Sandie…that’s John.”

Sandie looked from Scott to the television and back to Scott again. “You’re serious?”

“Dead.”

Sandie laughed almost hysterically. “Oh my God, I’ve been fancying my little brother’s boyfriend! Oh my God, is that not a laugh!?”

“He’s _not_ my boyfriend, San. I told you, I’ve only seen him the one time.”

“You didn’t know he was on _Live and Kicking_?” She asked, still chortling in amusement.

“Mitch failed to mention he was doing stage _and_ television.” He muttered with slight irritation. “How long has he been on?”

“I dunno…few months maybe?”

Scott snorted and shook his head. “Christ, no wonder he hasn’t phoned. He really _hasn’t_ had time.”

“You see,” Sandie said triumphantly, scraping a bit of beans on her toast. “I bet he rings you up right after the holidays. Who knows…maybe even tonight. A personal Christmas message.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Scott shook his head, watching John on the screen. “I told you he was out of my league; this just proves the point.”

“Why? ‘Cos he’s on the telly?”

“Listen to you,” Scott teased with a slight laugh, mocking his sister with a high falsetto voice. “’Out of your league just ‘cos he’s on the telly?’ He’s not some community theatre hack, Sandie; he’s a _television presenter_!”

“It’s children’s telly, Scott. It’s not like he’s on _Coronation Street_.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” Scott sighed. “He’s probably got loads of admirers—fans following him around, shouting his name, begging for an autograph, slipping him their number. Not to mention all the celebrities he’s probably bumped elbows with. Who am I compared to all that? Just some face in the crowd at the end of the day.”

“You, Scott Gill, could never be just a face in the crowd to anyone. I think I know you well enough to know that you’re not prone to flights of fancy. If you’ve thought this John was going to call you, you must have had good reason.”

Scott considered that for a moment. “Suddenly, I’m not so sure… All communication I’ve had about him has been through Mitch…. Do you think he’s been putting me on about John this whole time?”

Sandie’s expression was unreadable as she prodded her eggs. “Do you really think he’d do that sort of thing?”

Scott pushed his breakfast away, suddenly feeling nauseated. “Occam’s razor.”

“What?”

“Occam’s razor; the simplest explanation is often the right one. What’s more plausible: That in…” Scott mentally tallied the amount of time that had passed since he’d met John, “Four months, John Barrowman hasn’t had one bloody second to pick up a phone and call, or that Mitchell’s been having a laugh at my expense.”

“He wouldn’t.” Sandie said, quietly enraged. 

Scott felt miserable, and not because of his flu symptoms, “John met me once, Sandie. For two minutes. He’s not shown any interest in me since that night. Hell, I don’t know that he _was_ even interested. Mitchell's been the one putting this nonsense in me head. Jesus Christ, I feel like a fucking idiot.”

Sandie reached over and pulled Scott into a protective hug. “Stop it. You’ll drive yourself mad analyzing this to death. There’s only one way to know for sure if Mitchell’s been putting you on or not.”

“How’s that?” Scott asked, dejectedly.

“Ask him for John’s number. He’ll have to give you the number then.”

“And if he gives me a phony number? Or, God, what if it is John’s number and he thinks I’m some sort of nutter stalking him when I ring him up?”

“You are deeply, deeply disturbed, Scott.” Sandie declared, pushing her brother away. “How about you stalk your eggs, you nutter. They’ve probably gone cold by now.”

After changing the channel, Scott tucked into his breakfast, chewing on Sandie’s idea as well. She was right: if he wanted to settle this business with John, he was going to have to press Mitch for the number and call John himself. Scott resolved himself to talk to Mitch at the first opportunity, hoping that he would grow a little more confidence between now and then. 

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently this file ended up corrupted or something and posted chapter 5 twice... I have (hopefully) gotten that fixed.

John had always been the kind of person who could never sit for five minutes. He reckoned that was the reason why he took on as many gigs as he did—he loved being busy, especially when it came to entertaining—but sometimes he had a tendency to over extend himself and life often had to take a backseat to the stage…whether he wanted it to or not. 

It had been John’s sincere intention to phone Scott after the New Year, after the holiday madness had calmed down, but between hosting _Live and Kicking_ in the mornings, rehearsals in the afternoons, and performing as Chris in _Miss Saigon_ at night, John’s intentions had gone by the wayside. He’d kept Scott’s note by the phone in his flat—a visual reminder to call when he had time. He kept telling himself he’d call tomorrow when he wasn’t so knackered, but tomorrow kept getting pushed back. Days had turned into weeks which had turned into months, and finally John had to concede that he’d missed out on what might have been a really great thing with a really great guy. 

Even as busy as John was, he was thrilled. He’d always known that he had what it takes to make it big in the business, and the work he had put under his belt in the last year alone was proof enough that he had made it. He was a leading man in nearly every production he’d been in, he’d been asked to do television, he’d been asked to do musical recordings; he was being asked to do so many things that John knew at some point he was going to have to say ‘no,’ but not now…not yet. 

Being cast as the lead in _Sunset Boulevard_ had felt almost like a turning point in John’s career. He could just tell that great things were in store for him and he was ready. 

Sunset was having a great run at the Adelphi Theatre, and John was having a blast playing Joe Gillis. He had worked for Andrew Lloyd Webber before when he’d been cast as Raoul in _The Phantom of the Opera_ , but being in _Sunset _was a completely different atmosphere. He supposed it was because he was working with a different caliber of actors--opera performers often acted superior to musical performers, and John never could appreciate that attitude. Doing musicals required more than just singing a score--it required actual acting, dancing, and the occasional ad-lib when lines were forgotten. Performers in musicals, John thought, were more like family than performers in opera. There was simply a closeness with the cast that couldn't be replicated anywhere else.__

It was this closeness that led to hijinks on and off the stage. The pranks were always in good fun; never malicious, but always escalating in severity as the actors tried to one-up each other. John always loved the shock value pranks that would totally flabbergast his costars, and had--on more than one occasion--caused the leading lady to a.) forget her lines b.) guffaw in a serious moment or c.) nearly wet herself trying not to laugh, and him in the process. John's all-time favorite prank was to pull his willy out at some point in the performance when it wouldn't be noticed by the audience...a feat that apparently hadn't gone unnoticed by Sir Andrew and his Really Useful Group. 

John wasn’t sure at first how to take the letter from the producer, which had insisted that John’s penis not upstage his music, but ultimately decided to consider it a win and compliment to his bits and bob. Besides, who else could play the piano perfectly with their penis and not be seen by the audience? He was fairly certain not even Sir Andrew could do that. He had, at least, respected the requested and left his trouser snake in the trousers...while on stage anyways. In the wings or backstage, well...that was fair game. 

At the height of summer, _Sunset_ was 3 months into its production run. John was loving the massive publicity the show was getting, and thrilled that directors and producers from all over were coming to see the show. It meant the best possible exposure for him professionally, which meant more job opportunities. He was also loving all the fans waiting at the stage door for him to sign their playbill or give him gifts. It was an absolute kick, and left John wired for half the night after he’d left the theatre, and excited to go back and perform every day. All-in-all, John counted this show among his favorites so far in his career and knew he wouldn't mind reprising the role if he were ever asked again. 

July 13th was not an exceptionally special day for any reason, other than it was Wednesday and Wednesdays were the days that several members of the cast would walk down to The Strand for lunch at Smollensky’s. As the group was headed back to the theatre after a nice lunch, laughing at a story about a wardrobe malfunction in the middle of a big dance number in another production, John happened to glance across the dual carriageway to the pedestrians strolling about on the opposite side, and stopped dead in his tracks, gasping in astonishment. 

"John?" Anita's voice asked as her hand gripped his arm in concern. 

John opened and closed his mouth several times trying to speak around his shock. There, walking amongst the people on the other side of the road, was Scott Gill. 

"Sc...." John stammered, then found his voice, full force. "SCOTT!!" Scott's name echoed down the street and off the surrounding buildings, making people on both sides of the carriageway look around. 

Without thinking, John dashed out into the roadway, making his cast mates scream out as a car slammed on its brakes, skidding to a halt and blaring the horn. Bolting across the 4 lanes of traffic, John weaved through the mass of cars that were honking, drivers leaning out of their windows to shout at him, and he even heard several pedestrians crying for him to "Get out of the road!!!" 

John didn't care about any of them. He didn't care that he had literally stopped traffic to get to Scott, or that he'd nearly gotten his legs broken by leaping out in front of moving vehicles. The only thing he cared about was the Englishman that was currently gaping at him like a fish out of water. 

"Are you completely mad?" Were the first words out of Scott's mouth as he looked from John to the now slow-moving traffic on the A4, his face registering a mixture of alarm and amusement. 

John laughed, absolutely delighted, and beamed at Scott. "I think it would have been crazier if I'd let you walk away again." 

For a moment the two men stared at one another, unsure of what to say or where to begin. Shouldering his pride and swallowing his jittery nervousness now that he was in Scott's presence, John broke the silence first. 

"I'm really, _really_ sorry I haven't called you. I kept saying I was going to--I even kept your number by my phone to remind me--but..." John gave a world-weary sigh and shrugged. "I just never found the right time for it, and after a while I knew it was too late." 

"It's okay, John." Scott said with gracious understanding; a soft, shy smile playing at his lips. "It's just really nice to see you again. I take it you've been doing well?" 

John smiled broadly, "Yeah! I never dreamed I would ever have so much going on at one time, but I love it! How about you? How have you been?" 

"Oh, I'm doing quite well, thanks. Nothing near as exciting as you, I'm sure. Speaking of which..." Scott pointed towards the street. "Your friends over there look like they're about to take flight." 

John looked at his cast mates, who were all hovering on the curb almost leaning out into traffic as if they were trying to eavesdrop. John laughed and gave a dramatic wave of his arms to get them to move along. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted across the way, "I'll catch up!" 

Reluctantly the group moved on and John looked back at Scott, who shifted his messenger bag somewhat nervously up higher on his shoulder. "So, what brings you here?" 

John couldn't help but smile, silently pleased that he wasn't the only one feeling nervous at the moment. "We always walk down here from the theatre on Wednesdays. It's our routine before we start getting ready for the performance." 

"Yeah? What show are you doing?" 

" _Sunset Boulevard_. I'm playing Joe Gillis." John smirked, putting emphasis on the Gill. 

"Oh." Scott chortled, his cheeks flushing prettily. "Maybe I'll come see it sometime." 

John felt his heartbeat quicken, knowing this was his chance. It was now or never. "You could...or we could skip the show and just go to dinner afterwards." 

Scott's eyes sparkled as he smiled at John, making him weak in the knees. "I'd really like that." 

"How about Saturday? We have a matinee show, so that'll leave plenty of time for us to go out after." 

"Yeah, that sounds great." 

"Really?" John asked enthusiastically. 

"Yeah!" Scott laughed, nodding vigorously. 

"Fantastic!! Listen, I will call you. Tonight. And we'll figure out the details, okay? It might be kind of late, depending on when I get home from the theatre." 

"Yeah, okay. Do you need my number again?" 

John shook his head with a grin. "No, I kept your note. Do you have my number? Just in case?" 

"I...did. I think I might have lost it." 

"Do you have a pen?" 

Scott reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a ballpoint pen, but no paper. John took it and pulled Scott's hand closer to him. Scott obligingly flattened his palm and tried not to giggle as the ball of the pen rolled against his skin in tickling strokes. When he was finished, John blew on the ink gently to dry it and slowly released Scott's hand, holding out the pen. 

Scott tried not to look like the puddle of mush he felt like internally as he took the pen back and placed it back in his bag. He looked at his hand and read the numbers back to John, making sure he could read it. 

"I'll call you tonight." John reiterated with a smile as he started to move past Scott. "Oh, and..." Scott turned his head to meet John's eyes, his cheeks flushing again as John’s smile deepened. "It's really nice to see you again, too." 

John walked away at a casual pace, mentally reminding himself to breathe in…and out…in…and out, and trying not to skip away happily as he hurried to catch up with the rest of the cast. 

\-- 

That night, John had been eager to get out of the theatre. He’d changed out of his costume and into his street clothes in record time, said goodnight to the rest of the cast still changing, and headed out the stage door. There were, of course, several fans to deal with and playbills to sign, but John did so happily. He wanted people to know how much he appreciated their support and love, and if taking a few minutes to chat and sign autographs or snap photos was what it took, he would. 

When he finally made it home to his flat, he was pleased to see that it wasn’t even 11 o’clock yet. That had to be a first for him. He took a moment to use the toilet, then retrieved Scott’s note from Christmas, carefully unfolding it and spreading it out flat on his bedside table. He took a deep breath as he sat on the edge of his bed, less nervous now than he’d been earlier, but still feeling a few butterflies fluttering in his stomach just at the thought of the other man. Wiggling his fingers over the receiver for a few seconds as he plucked up his courage, John picked up the phone and dialed Scott’s number. 

“Hi John.” Scott’s voice sounded pleased as he answered on the third ring. 

“How’d you know it was me?” 

“Power of deduction,” Scott teased. “You said you’d call late tonight. Figured I’d have a 50/50 shot that whoever called after ten o’clock would be you.” 

“How many times have you answered the phone ‘hi John’ tonight?” 

Scott laughed. “I’m one for one.” 

John smiled and stretched out on his back, twirling his finger in the phone cord. “You have a really nice voice, you know that?” 

“Oh…um…thanks.” John could hear the shy embarrassment in Scott’s tone before the quiet admission, “So do you.” 

“I really should have called you a lot sooner than this, but I’m glad you said yes to dinner.” 

“I have a…small confession to make,” Scott stated, haltingly. “I had Mitch give me your number after the holidays because I wasn’t sure if he was putting me on about you or not. I…actually phoned you once and got your answer phone.” 

“You did?” John quickly scanned his memory, not recalling ever hearing a message from Scott on his machine. 

“Yeah,” a soft laugh that tickled John’s eardrum pleasantly, “I was so nervous that I hung up without saying anything and never phoned back.” 

John laughed ruefully. “Well, I guess at least we’re talking now. Better late than never.” 

“Yeah, though you really didn’t have to get yourself nearly killed for it. You do realize how close that car came to actually hitting you, don’t you?” 

“I don’t know that I even realized I was moving until I heard the car horn; I was just completely shocked that I spotted you. It was…weird, really. Just glancing over and seeing you.” 

“Maybe it was fate…if you believe in that sort of thing.” Scott offered. 

“Do you…believe in fate?” 

“I think I’m starting to.” 

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Scott hadn’t told a soul that he was going out with John; terrified that if he said it aloud he would wake up and find out it had all been a dream. They’d made plans to go a Chinese eatery in the Bayswater District of London. John had offered to pick Scott up after the show, but Scott insisted that his flat was too far out of the way and that he would simply meet John there. John had finally relented and agreed, then before they had gotten off the phone, promised to call Scott the next night just to chat. When John actually carried out that promise, Scott had teased him about how easy this should have been from the beginning, and John had reminded him who had called who and had hung up without leaving a message.

It was an easy friendship right from the start, Scott felt, and the more he thought about their date on Saturday, the less nervous and more anxious he became. He couldn’t wait to see John again, and kept imagining how the night would go. Would they get on face-to-face like they had been over the phone? Would there be a kiss? Would John invite him over…or, conversely, would he invite John over? 

The thought of inviting John back to his flat sent Scott into a cleaning frenzy, and he spent most of Saturday morning tidying up his already tidy flat. John’s show was schedule to start at 5 o’clock, so Scott knew he’d have plenty of time to get ready for their date probably even before the end of the first act. After he’d cleaned, he’d sat and read a few chapters of his current book, then went on to do some drafting.

When the phone rang at 3:30, Scott didn’t think twice when he picked up. “Hello?”

“Um.” There was a slight pause on the other end of the phone before John continued, “Slight change of plans.”

“What do you mean by ‘slight?’”

“I’m not entirely sure you’re going to believe me. I’m not sure I believe it myself.”

Scott deflated. “You’re canceling, aren’t you?”

“No,” John said firmly. “No, no, no. I’m definitely _not_ canceling.”

“Then…?”

“I just got a call from Cher.”

“Sorry?” Scott was certain he’d misheard that.

“Well, her manager. She wants to have dinner with me…tonight. When I told her that I already had a date with you and didn’t want to cancel it, she…told me to bring you along.”

“Cher?” Scott asked in disbelief, convinced there must have been some less famous Cher out there that had phoned John and asked him to dinner. “As in ‘Sonny and?’”

“The very same.”

“Oh my God, John… what did you say?”

“What _can_ you say when Cher asks you to dinner? I told her we’d be there.”

Scott’s jaw dropped and he sat there in silence, unable to speak.

“Do you still want to go?”

“To dinner?”

“Yeah.”

“With Cher?”

“And me, yes.” John chuckled. 

“Um…” Scott felt his anxiety revert back into nervousness. “O-okay.” 

“Good.” John sounded relieved.

“John?”

“Yeah?”

“Is this…normal? You having dinner with celebrities?”

John laughed, “Well, not exactly on a first date. At least we can be assured that no matter what happens, this will be a memorable night.”

“I suppose that’s true… So, where are we going?”

“Morton’s in Berkley Square. Do you know where it is?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Scott licked his suddenly dry lips. “Isn’t that a member’s only place?”

John laughed, “The club is, but the restaurant is open to anyone. Look, don’t be nervous, okay? We can’t both be nervous.”

“I wasn’t until you mentioned a major celebrity was going to be witnessing me making a completely arse of myself at dinner.” A realization dawned on Scott and he furrowed his brows. “Wait…what are _you_ nervous about?”

“What do you think?! I’m nervous about finally getting to go on a date with you!”

Scott could feel himself blushing all the way to his hairline, completely dumbfounded by the fact that someone like John would be nervous about going out with a nobody like him. He knew he needed to say something, but the only word that he could manage was a slightly high-pitched, “Oh.”

John laughed softly, “You’re adorable. Listen, I’ve got to go. Are you sure you don’t want me to pick you up?”

“No, no…I’ll meet you there. Same time?”

“Same time.”

“Great.”

“Bye, Scott.”

“Yeah…Bye, John.”

Scott stared at the phone for several moments as his nervousness and anxiety coalesced into a slight bit of panicked nausea. He picked up the phone again, this time needing to tell someone what the hell was going on in order to get a little advice and perspective. He paced around his flat as he listened to the phone ring in his ear before a woman finally picked up.

“Sandie, you are never going to believe this...”

\--

Scott was supposed to meet John in front of Morton’s at 8:45 for a 9 o’clock reservation. As was always the story of Scott’s life, he was running late. He wanted to blame it on traffic, or some sort of crisis that was out of his control, but it had been completely his fault. He’d been so nervous that he’d cut himself shaving, almost killed himself slipping on the soap in the shower, and had gone through five different wardrobe changes before he finally settled on something suitable.

Sandie had told him to wear blue because it would bring out his eyes, but none of his blue shirts had felt dressy enough. He’d debated on whether or not to wear a tie, what sort of jacket he should wear, and if jeans would be appropriate. Scott had never put this much thought into his style, but he simply had no clue how he should dress when on a date in the company of Cher. Knowing he was out of time, Scott had finally dressed in a simple white button down and a pair of slightly wrinkled khakis. He crammed a blue tie into the pocket of slightly oversized grey suit jacket, just in case Morton’s was the type of place to require that sort of thing, and headed out the door.

It was 9:06 when Scott chained his bike up the down block from the entrance and finally made his way inside to the host stand. The man behind the podium had looked down his nose at him, a derisively amused smirk on his lips. “May I help you?”

Scott suddenly regretted agreeing to dinner and not postponing it until he and John could have been alone somewhere within his element. “I’m…uh…meeting someone.”

“Name?”

“Mine or—“

The host blinked slowly, obviously agreeing with Scott’s internal monologue that he didn’t belong here. “Theirs.”

“Of course…sorry. John Barr—“

“Scott!” John’s voice interrupted him and Scott looked over just as John sidled up beside him, his arm slipping around Scott’s shoulders as John looked at the host with slight ire. “Is there a problem?”

“This gentleman was just telling me who he was meeting, sir.”

“Well, he’s meeting me, so if it’s alright with you, I’d like to take him to our table.”

“Of course, sir. My apologies.” The last was directed at Scott, with a slight bit of disdain, but Scott didn’t have time to reply as John pulled him away. 

“I seriously thought you were going to stand me up.” John confessed quietly, his hand sliding down to the small of Scott’s back as he guided him towards the table. “I can’t tell you how glad I am you came.”

“I…couldn’t figure out what I should wear.” Scott said, taking in John’s sleek black dinner jacket and button down shirt with open collar. No tie, Scott noted with inward relief. The relief was short lived as John steered him up to a table and Scott’s eyes fell on one of the most recognizable faces in the world. 

“Scott Gill,” John said, “meet the one, the only, the fabulous Cher.”

Cher was looking at him with an amused smile. “Close your mouth, honey, you look like a fish.”

Scott shut his mouth with an audible click, having not realized he was gawking. Sticking out his hand out awkwardly, Scott managed to stutter out a hello, and Cher glanced at John as she politely shook his hand.

“Isn’t he a cutie. I can see why you didn’t want to cancel your date with him.” Cher winked, then looked back at Scott. “Have a seat, we just ordered drinks.”

Scott felt John rub his back lightly before John gestured him to a seat adjacent to him. A waiter appeared as if on cue to take his drink order, but Scott knew that he should stick to water rather than run the risk of drinking too much and making a bigger arse of himself. John and Cher had already launched back into a discussion on John’s more recent performance, so Scott sat by and listened, still mentally pinching himself that this was really happening.

He took the opportunity to thoroughly look at John: tousled dark brown hair cascading over his brow, sparkling blue eyes, dazzling smile. John was flawless and breathtaking. He was every bit the leading man; a real-life Prince Charming. Scott still had no idea why he was on a date with John. _And Cher…_ a voice in his head nagged—as if he could have forgotten. Scott dared to look at the diva, watching as she listened to John talk with rapt interest. It was very surreal to be within spitting distance of a woman who was an icon to gay men everywhere. John had been right, this date would be unforgettable. 

“Well,” Cher finally said, snapping Scott out of his thoughts. “Enough about the play. Scott, tell me about you. You’re the first person who has ever been my competition—no one’s ever turned down a dinner opportunity with me until John. You must really be something special.”

Scott felt himself flush as she gave him another teasing wink and he heard John chuckle beside him. “I honestly have no idea why I’m here,” he confessed, glancing over at John. “I’m nobody, really.”

John’s hand covered his, blue eyes boring into him with deep sincerity. “You’re here because I asked you to be…and you are definitely _not_ a nobody.”

Somehow, Scott managed not to melt into a complete puddle at John’s words and answered Cher’s original question, telling her a little about himself and how he and John had met. Cher had even scolded John for waiting so long to call. After a while, Scott felt a little more relaxed and the three of them took turns trading stories and getting to know each other. It was the strangest first date Scott had ever been on, but he very quickly realized how much he adored John…and how eager he was for the dinner to end so that they could be alone.

When the check came, Scott had started to reach for his wallet, but it was Cher who stopped him. “Don’t even think about it, honey. This one is on me, but only if you two promise to go out and have a real date without me.”

John had looked over at him with a sly smirk, “Oh, I’m sure we can think of something to do.” Scott felt his heart skip a beat, knowing exactly what John had in mind. He suddenly felt very glad he’d cleaned his flat…

When the check was settled, Cher finished off her glass of wine and grinned at them, “Well boys, chances are the paparazzi is out front waiting for us. John, why don’t you walk me to my car?”

Scott felt a squeeze on his hand and looked over at John. “I’ll meet you outside?”

“Yeah, I’m just down the block at the bike rack.”

John looked thoroughly amused. “You rode your bike here?”

Scott shrugged, blushing faintly. “It seemed faster, given the fact that I was already late.”

John laughed, then released his hand and stood, offering his arm to Cher. “Ready when you are.”

Cher smiled and held her hand out to Scott again. “Very nice to meet you, Scott. You’re gorgeous and I’m jealous that you’re going home with this one instead of me.”

“Oh… I…” His blush intensified, making John grin and Cher laugh.

“Don’t be embarrassed, honey. Own it.”

And with that, John and Cher were headed towards the front of the restaurant. Scott followed several paces behind, not wanting anything to do with Cher’s paparazzi, and hovering just in the foyer as John and Cher walked out to a barrage of blub flashes. He could hear the reporters shouting Cher’s name, trying to get their attention, and even a few of them calling out to John. A tingle ran down Scott’s spine at the realization of just how well known his date was.

“What the bloody hell am I getting myself into…” He murmured, watching them through the window and waiting for them to pull the cameras away so that he could slip out unnoticed. He doubted anyone would even give him a second glance, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to see his face on the cover of a gossip rag, even if it was an off camera shot of him over John’s shoulder.

When the cameras were far enough away, Scott slipped out and headed off away from John and Cher towards the rack where his bike was chained. Leaning against the end of the rack to wait for John, Scott let out a slow breath as the evening sank in. His nervous anticipation returned as he realized what else lay in store for him tonight, and he tried not to let it bother him that even though he and John had technically known each other for a year, this was still their first date. Did John go home with every guy on the first date? The thought sat heavily on Scott’s undigested mushroom tortellini. 

A car pulled up to the curb, interrupting Scott’s thoughts and he glanced over to see the sleek Jag. There was something vaguely familiar about the car, and Scott continued to look at it as John got out. Seeing Scott’s eyes on the car, John smiled wildly. “Like it? It’s the first thing I bought when I had the money. I love cars.”

It finally clicked in Scott’s memory where he’d seen the car and he started laughing ruefully. “Oh, that’s absolutely brilliant.”

“What is?” John asked, clearly missing whatever it was Scott found so funny.

“Our paths have been crossing for quite some time before the other day in the street.”

John’s brow furrowed in further confusion.

“You nearly killed me with this car about a year ago, just after we met. Mitch had told me I should expect a call from you because he’d given you my number. I was going absolutely mad waiting for the phone to ring, so I went out for a ride. I…er…sort of ran a red light and you almost hit me.”

“That was _you_?” John asked with a disbelieving laugh as he recalled the night in question.

Scott nodded with a rueful chuckle, “And then I saw you again a bit later while I was waiting for a cab. I didn’t recognize you because the windows were so dark, but you had slowed down and you were looking at me. The only thing I could think was ‘why is such a hot guy driving an old man’s c—“

“This is _not_ an old man’s car,” John protested. “It’s—ugh—get in; I’m going to show you how awesome this car is.”

“What about my bike?”

“Toss it in the boot.” John said as he moved to the back of the car and lifted the lid of the trunk.

Scott blinked at him. “You’re serious?”

“Of course I am; come on.”

Unchaining his bike, Scott bit back a grin as he wheeled it over to John’s Jag and lifted it up into the boot, careful not to ding body with his handlebars or pedals. Once it was in, and the trunk lid was shut, Scott dusted off his hands and looked at John just as the other man slipped an arm around his waist and leaned in to steal a kiss. 

Scott’s eyes closed automatically, one hand coming to rest on John’s hip to steady himself. The kiss was, needless to say, one of the best kisses Scott had ever been on the receiving end of; even though it was a very chaste kiss, it was certainly not lacking in passion. Scott felt like time stood still in those few seconds—the world melted away around them and all that existed was John. If this was a prelude of things to come, Scott knew he would have absolutely no complaints whatsoever.

John was smiling almost drunkenly as he pulled back. “I’ve wanted to do that for a year.”

“You shouldn’t have waited so long,” Scott replied boldly, placing his hand on the back of John’s neck to draw him back in for another kiss, this time taking the initiative to deepen the embrace.

John moaned softly as Scott’s tongue slowly explored his mouth, pulling Scott closer to him by his hips as he responded full force. Scott turned them so that John’s backside was butted against the boot of the Jaguar, his body pinning John against the car frame with a delicious combination of solidity and softness. Scott could feel John’s arousal pressing against his own, and when the kiss broke a second time, they were both breathless with anticipation.

Eyes locked onto one another and bodies aching with need, John asked the question burning both of their minds. “Your place or mine?”

“Yours.”

John gave him one more lasting kiss before nudging him towards the passenger side of the car with an impious grin. “Get in.”

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The much awaited chapter 8. Apologies for the gross delay in getting this done. Life has been hectic. Just an additional note, this chapter is rated MA for graphic sexual content. You have been warned. My continued thanks to [Riennynn](http://riennynn.tumblr.com/) for her awesomeness and catching when my American shows through. I dedicate this chapter to her.

John kept one hand on Scott’s thigh during the drive back to his flat, thumb rubbing slow circles as his heart thudded in his chest. Scott’s hand was resting on his, squeezing lightly, and John could feel the slight tremor and tension in the man beside him. He glanced over as he pulled up to a stop light, noticing that Scott was looking out the passenger window. John could tell he was nervous and it made him grin madly.

“Hey,” he said, squeezing Scott’s thigh. The other man looked over at him and for a moment, John forgot how to breathe. Scott had a boyish innocence to him, but there was mischievousness in those eyes that drew John in. He wanted to see that playful, devilish side of Scott that lurked in the shadow of this sweet, shy man. “You don’t have to be nervous.”

Scott smiled softly, but looked down at their hands. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Do you take all your first dates home?”

“Well, sometimes they take me home,” John said seriously, making Scott look up at him in surprise. John laughed and turned his hand over, lacing his fingers with Scott’s. “I’m _kidding_ , Scottie. No, I don’t go home with every guy on the first date. Do you?”

Scott was smiling goofily at him, but shook his head. “No.”

“What’s with the smile?” John asked with a quiet laugh, loving the almost dopey look on Scott’s face. 

“I…um…I like the way you called me ‘Scottie.’”

The light turned green and John beamed at him before pressing the gas. Within minutes they were pulling up in front of John’s flat. John turned off the car and leaned across the console, smiling softly at Scott as he murmured, “Come here…”

Scott leaned forward, head tilting as his lips found John’s in the darkened cab of the Jag. John’s hand stroked its way up Scott’s thigh, rubbing him through his trousers and making Scott breathe heavily through his nose as he grasped at John’s jacket, tugging him as if to pull him across the car and into his lap. John moaned into his mouth, and pulled back as he lightly squeezed Scott’s budding erection. The lecherous grin on his face told Scott that John definitely liked what he had found.

“Let’s go up.” John suggested, giving Scott one more lasting kiss before letting go and reaching for his door handle. 

His own hard-on made it uncomfortable to walk, so John made quick work of the track up to his apartment by taking Scott’s hand and taking off at a run towards the stairs. Scott laughed as John practically dragged him up the first flight, both of them nearly stumbling several times. Scott pulled John back as they reached the second landing, pushing him up against the wall and licking up the side of John’s neck. John growled, clutching at Scott.

“I would normally _hate_ that, but right now it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Hands on Scott’s ass, John rolled his hips forward into Scott’s, both of them gasping softly at the delicious friction.

“John, if we don’t get to your flat soon, I’m going to fuck you in this stairwell.”

Those words coming from that mouth were enough to make John nearly lose it. He dropped his head back against the wall with a thud, cock throbbing almost painfully. “Let’s go.”

Taking Scott’s hand again, they moved at a more careful pace, both painfully aroused and chafing against the fabric of their pants. When they finally reached the door of John’s flat, he fumbled with the keys for a moment before finally managing to open the lock and let them in. Scott closed the door behind him and leaned against it, looking at John with a smoldering expression.

“God, you’re so hot.” John breathed, moving towards him like a moth to a flame. Their lips crashed together, tongues vying for dominance, but it was Scott’s hands that skimmed up John’s chest under the jacket and pushed it off his shoulders. John let it drop off behind him on the floor before his own hands cupped Scott’s jaw, lightly urging him forward. 

As they moved together, Scott’s long fingers deftly worked open the buttons on John’s shirt. John was trying to remove Scott’s jacket with very little luck until Scott pushed open John’s shirt and dropped his lips to the smooth expanse of skin over John’s collarbone. Letting his arms drop, Scott let John finally push the jacket off of him. He felt John’s hands at the front of his shirt as John moaned and craned his head to the side. Taking that as invitation, Scott kissed his way up John’s neck, alternating between nips and laving the skin with his tongue.

“Fuck…” John muttered, one hand running up the back of Scott’s neck and tangling in the sandy locks, holding his mouth against his skin. “You’re driving me crazy.”

“That’s the point,” Scott breathed against his neck.

John finally managed to get Scott’s shirt off, practically ripping it off his shoulders and running his hands over the toned pecs and flat stomach. “Christ, you’ve got an amazing body too… Your name isn’t Steve Rogers is it?”

“Who?”

“Steve Rogers.” John pulled back, grinning slightly. “Captain America?” Scott’s brow furrowed in confusion. “The comic book chara…oh nevermind.” John grabbed Scott by his belt loops and tugged him forward until their lips met again, dragging him down the hall towards the bedroom. 

Working on Scott’s belt and the fastenings of his trousers, John pulled back from the kiss again, looking in Scott’s eyes as he slid his hand beneath the layers of clothing and palmed Scott’s erection, making the other man’s eyes flutter as he grunted softly in response. “Oh God, yes...” John breathed, hand traveling down the generous length of Scott’s cock. 

Scott couldn’t help the grin that pulled at his lips, though his cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of red. “Does that mean you approve?”

John gave him a firm squeeze, lips curling up mischievously. “You tell me.” 

Pushing Scott’s trousers and pants down his hips, John nipped at the bare shoulder as he grasped Scott’s hips and sank down to his knees in front of the other man. Scott was panting with anticipation, his eyes locked on John as a hand came to rest on John’s head, carding through the thick locks.

“I think I owe you pretty big,” John said, staring up at Scott. “All the missed opportunities, and screwing up our first date.”

“You haven’t screwed it up.” Scott told him affectionately before the smile broke on his face, “But yes...you do owe me.”

John laughed, squeezing Scott’s hips before his hands ran over his lover’s backside, giving it a smack. “Don’t get cute.”

Scott smiled shyly at him, biting his lower lip and flooding John with a new wave of arousal. “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous,” he breathed, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the top of Scott’s thigh. The fingers carded through John’s hair again almost restlessly as John trailed soft kisses up to Scott’s hipbone and began to trace his pelvis with his tongue.

“John…” Scott breathed, head falling back and eyes closing as he enjoyed the attention. John blew a gentle breath along the line of wetness outlining Scott’s pelvic bone, making the other man shiver. Sinking down a little, John eyed the straining erection lustfully for a moment before licking from root to tip, making Scott jerk in reaction and give a strangled cry.

“Been a while?” John asked in amusement.

“I’m…” Scott cleared his throat and looked down at John. “I’m ticklish.”

“Ticklish? What, _there_?”

“Ehm…” Scott averted his gaze, the blush returning yet again. “Everywhere.”

“That was the wrong thing to tell me, Scott Gill.” John grinned evilly. Before Scott had time to reconsider his admission, John opened his mouth and swallowed Scott’s cock. Scott groaned as John’s lips wrapped around the base of him, cheeks hollowing out as he created suction and pulled all the way back to the tip. John groaned softly around Scott and swirled his tongue across the head before taking the length in again.

“Oh...God…” Scott moaned, gripping the top of John’s head in order to keep himself upright, his hips rocking forward, gently thrusting into John’s hot mouth. Fingertips skimmed across his thigh, raising gooseflesh on his skin before a large, warm hand cupped his balls. Scott’s only coherent thought was that John definitely knew what he was doing, and he gladly gave the reins over, letting John Barrowman pleasure him with his tongue.

John wanted to suck Scott to completion, wanted to taste his cum, but he didn’t want the fun to end too quickly. Both of them had waited far too long for a night like this, and he planned to make the most of it. Releasing Scott with a wet pop, John watched the shudder shake Scott’s body before darkened eyes looked down at him curiously.

Getting to his feet, John pulled Scott into a rough kiss before letting go again. “Finish getting undressed,” he told him, nodding to the puddle of clothes around Scott’s ankles. “Tonight’s going to be the wildest night of your life.”

Scott watched as John finished stripping himself down, padding over to his nightstand and rummaging in the drawer. He managed to get the tangle of his trousers off before John turned back to him, tossing a plastic bottle at him. Scott caught it--barely--and didn’t need to look at the label to know what it was. As John sauntered back towards him, Scott watched him tear a foil packet open with his teeth. John’s lips found his as hands took hold of Scott’s cock, giving it several strokes before John rolled the condom into place.

Fingers curling around the base of Scott’s neck, John broke from the kiss and pulled Scott down so that his lips could press against Scott’s ear. “I want this to last as long as possible. I want you to fuck me anyway and anywhere you want. There’s just one rule...you don’t get to cum until I say so.”

Scott’s free hand came up and cupped John’s cheek, pulling him into a kiss. His tongue pushed past John’s lips and teeth, exploring deeply and moaning into John’s mouth. With his other hand, he flipped up the small spout of the bottle in his hand and dribbled the clear lubricant over his cock. He could feel it cold and slick over the condom and toss the bottle onto the bed before stroking himself. John was breathing heavily, letting himself be thoroughly kissed before Scott pulled back.

“Turn around.”

John grinned and obeyed, turning around and looking back at Scott over his shoulder. The other man nudged him forward and bent him over the edge of the bed. With his lube-slicked fingers, Scott rubbed along John’s arse, parting him gently and teasing his entrance. His eyes traveled over John’s fit form--well defined back, trim waist, and tight arse were definitely working in John’s favor. He could feel his cock throbbing, aching to be inside of John, and for the thousandth time that night, he wanted to pinch himself to make sure this was real. John moaned and pressed back against Scott’s fingers, his own hand moving between his legs to play with himself as Scott readied him.

“Mmm...fuck…” John swore as Scott slipped one long, slender digit inside. Though he knew he probably didn’t need to go painstakingly slow with John, he found he wanted to. He was getting off on the sounds he was able to elicit from the other man--the sighs and moans and swears feeding his libido...and his ego. 

Another finger followed the first, and Scott thrust them together in and out of the tight hole. By the time Scott was content with his foreplay, John was practically a mewling mess, face pressed into a pillow he’d crammed under his head. Scott could feel his own cock leaking inside the rubber, so hard that it was pressing against his stomach. He licked his lips and grabbed the bottle of lube, rewetting himself before lining up and easily slipping in.

They groaned in unison, and Scott bit his lip hard to keep himself from losing his control and cumming right then and there. He was trying to keep still, making no movements, until he’d gotten back in control again, but John was growing impatient under him, moving back against him and trying to take more of Scott in.

“Jesus, John...wait.” Scott panted, gripping John’s hips and holding him still until he was ready. As punishment--or payback, Scott mused--he thrust himself in roughly, sheathing himself all the way inside of his lover and making John throw his head back with a cry of pleasure. A hand reached back and grabbed Scott’s thigh as John looked at him over his shoulder.

“Fuck me.”

Scott grinned at John, pulling back until just the head of his cock remained, then thrusting in hard. John groaned under him and bit the pillow, and Scott took that as a sign of enjoyment. He slammed into John a few more times before settling into a rhythm that left both of them panting and moaning.

Feeling himself getting close to his peak again, Scott growled and pulled out of John. “Turn over.”

John obeyed, flipping onto his back and looking up at Scott with reckless abandon as he wrapped his legs around Scott’s waist and pulled Scott forward roughly. Losing his balance, Scott threw his hands down against the mattress on either side of a grinning John. John grabbed Scott’s face and pulled him down into a needy kiss, legs still pressing Scott firmly against him. He moaned into John’s mouth as their cocks slid together and reached between them, grasping both of them and stroking them in unison.  
“You’re fucking amazing, Scott.” John panted, releasing him from the kiss. “Everything you do drives me crazy.”

“It’s supposed to,” Scott teased, lips trailing light kisses along John’s neck.

“It’s making it really hard not to cum.” John admitted with a grunt.

“So, cum.” Scott nipped at John’s earlobe before pressing his lips against his ear. “Cumming once doesn’t mean the night is over, love.”

John moaned, bucking his hips up under Scott’s. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me, there will be plenty of opportunities for me. Cum for me, John.”

The words alone were almost enough to make John topple over the edge, but the added squeeze and stroke of Scott’s hand around his cock pushed him the rest of the way. He cried out in pleasure, feeling the warm jet of cum trapped between their stomachs. Scott’s hand didn’t cease its movements, but John could hear his change in breath as a very soft “oh yeah” was muttered against his ear, signalling that Scott was close himself.

Releasing their cocks, Scott positioned himself back at John’s opening and slid back inside of him with a sigh. He untangled John’s legs from around his waist, grabbing his ankles and pushed John’s leg’s up. Rolling his head back, Scott set an easy pace, and John played with his own cock as he watched Scott fuck him. He knew it would take a few minutes before he was ready again, but it didn’t make it any less pleasurable to him.

Knowing that they had all night now, John felt more eager and grinned as he clenched around Scott. The other man groaned, fingers squeezing John’s ankles as he thrust roughly. John clenched again, then again, making Scott moan uncontrollably as he pounded into John. With one final clench, Scott cried out John’s name as his body went rigid with his release. John found himself almost sorry that Scott was wearing a condom, wanting to feel the product of his work.

Knees buckling slightly, Scott laid back down across John’s chest, letting the blood return to his head. John’s hands were roaming his shoulders and upper back, sweeping occasionally through his hair. “You know I didn’t say you could cum yet.”

Scott laughed softly, hearing the tease in John’s voice and lifted his head to kiss his lips. “I’m pretty sure the man who cums first doesn’t get the final say.” He reached between his legs and pulled the full condom off his cock, chucking it towards the small bin next to the nightstand before slipping his arms back around John and pressing a kiss against his chest.

“Oh? Is that right? Did you see that on a fortune cookie?” John grinned, pulling Scott further onto the bed and rolling them over so that he was now on top of the other man.

Scott shook his head, trying to contain his grin. “It’s in the Bible, isn’t it? Proverbs or something.”

John gave a rueful laugh, “I need to see whatever version of the Bible you’re reading.”

“Nah, no need. I’ve already made you see God tonight.”

John gasped slightly, shocked by Scott’s sense of humor, and wholly enjoying it. “You’re so bad.” His fingers dug slightly into Scott’s side, making the other man jerk away and laugh.

“No, don’t do that.” Scott begged, shaking his head and trying to push John’s hands away from finding another ticklish spot. John grinned as he fought against Scott, capturing one of his wrists and pinning it down against the bed. “No! John!”

John gave a maniacal laugh and squeezed Scott’s side. The other man laughed in response, bucking up under him as he continued to try and escape from the torture. “You fucking arse,” he wheezed as John’s fingers assaulted him. Fighting against the hand pinning his wrist, Scott finally managed to wriggle free, tangling himself around John and pushing him back over onto his back. He grabbed at John’s hands and locked their fingers together, holding tight. John struggled against him, raking a toenail against the bottom of Scott’s foot and making the other man completely jolt.

The two wrestled in the bed, vying for dominance over the other until they collapsed together--sides aching from laughter. John moved back on top of Scott, kissing him deeply and drawing a deep moan from the other man as their tongues slid together. The sound seemed to travel straight to John’s groin, and he felt himself harden in response. Reaching down between his legs, he palmed Scott’s semi-hard cock and pulled back from the kiss with a wicked grin. 

“Time for round two.”


End file.
